


I've Stopped My Dreaming

by ratgrandpa2000



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratgrandpa2000/pseuds/ratgrandpa2000
Summary: I won't do too much scheming, these days.Even several months after his pardon, Relius's health is still delicate. Teleus keeps himself busy with looking after him and avoids thinking about love.
Relationships: Relius/Teleus (Queen's Thief)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	I've Stopped My Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> (cw: mentions of canonical suicide attempt)
> 
> Thank you as always to my betas, storieswelove and my partner! <3 This was meant to be a one-chapter fic, but SOME idiots couldn't realize that they're in love, so there's gonna be at least one more. Title from These Days by Nico.

Relius had a fever again. This was the longest he’d gone without one since his pardon nearly four months ago, and he’d hoped that perhaps he was free of them. 

Alas, he’d woken well after noon soaked with sweat, yet shivering with cold, and a throbbing pain in his head. He reached for the cup of water on his bedside table, lifted it to his lips with a shaking hand, and managed to take a single sip before the cup slipped from his grasp and fell, spilling water all over himself and the bed and rolling off to smash on the floor. He groaned and lay back down on the wet sheets. Getting up would take far too much effort. He scooted over to the driest spot he could find, wrapped his blankets tightly around himself, and slept again.

That was how Teleus found him when he arrived bearing an amphora of watered wine and a tray of lunch, bread and soup and cheese. He’d opened the door when there was no response to his knock, having grown used, during Relius’s convalescence, to walking in while Relius was napping. He closed the door softly so as not to wake Relius, setting the tray and amphora down on the table, and proceeded cautiously into the sleeping quarters. Relius was calmer when there was someone with him when he woke, regardless of how much the man insisted he was fine on his own.

Teleus frowned at the mess that greeted him. The smashed cup and the spilled water were clear enough evidence that something was amiss. He hurried to the bed, his heart beating a little too fast, and took Relius's wrist in his hand, checking for a pulse. Teleus sagged with relief upon finding one, though his concern was quickly renewed when he realized how clammy and hot the skin beneath his fingers was. He laid a hand across Relius’s forehead and swallowed, his throat feeling tight. He was burning.

Relius shifted under Teleus’s hand, his eyelids fluttering as though he might wake. He moaned, and Teleus snatched his hand back as if the fever was hot enough to burn him. At that, Relius opened his eyes. He blinked at Teleus for a moment, seemingly unsure of who he was. Teleus held his breath, and finally, the tension left Relius’s shoulders and he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice scratchy. “I don’t think I’m feeling quite up to lunch today.” He laughed weakly and Teleus felt his heart twist at the sound.

“Don’t apologize.” Teleus spoke a little too harshly and took a seat on the edge of the bed. With a sigh, he checked Relius’s temperature again, just in case his fever had miraculously disappeared. “You’re burning like the fires of Hephestia and you’re apologizing for missing lunch?” Teleus shook his head and considered sending for Petrus, but decided that making sure Relius was comfortable first was more important. “You’ve got to get up, though. You spilled water everywhere.” At least it was only water this time. Easy enough to clean up. “I’m not letting you sleep like that.”

Relius grumbled indistinctly, expressing his displeasure with this plan. He wasn’t comfortable like this, but the thought of getting up was worse. He was freezing, even wrapped in his blankets. 

He was still protesting when Teleus put his hands under his armpits and practically dragged him out of bed and over to the armchair by the window. While Teleus sat him down in the chair, he glared at his friend, who ignored him and went back to the bed and fetched the blankets that he hadn’t gotten wet, and continued glaring while Teleus carefully tucked them around him. He finally dropped his protests when Teleus bent down and kissed his forehead.

Teleus sighed and sat down heavily on the matching footstool. He rubbed at the space between his brows, feeling a headache starting to build. “How long have you been ill?” he asked Relius. He didn’t give Relius space to answer before continuing. “Does Petrus know? Relius, you—” He sucked in a sharp breath and tried to sort through all the things he wanted to say. Then he looked back up at Relius and everything he’d been about to say left him. He sighed again and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be lecturing you.” Relius made a small noise of agreement, which very nearly caused Teleus to resume his aborted lecture. Instead he said, “Well. I brought lunch. You should try to eat if you can.” Before Relius could object, Teleus got up again and got the tray he’d abandoned earlier, though he left the wine where it was.

Relius looked at the tray with distaste. “I’m not hungry,” he protested as Teleus set the tray beside him. “Teleus, I don’t—” That was all he got to say before a spoonful of soup was shoved into his open mouth. He swallowed, surprised, and stared at Teleus incredulously. Teleus stared back, stone-faced.

“I knew you weren’t going to eat on your own,” he said. “Don’t give me that look.” He dipped the spoon into the soup again and pressed it to Relius’s lips. Relius, not wanting soup spilled down his shift, reluctantly accepted it. It was… He didn’t hate it, he supposed. It was certainly a step up from the first few days in the infirmary when he was too weak to lift his head and Petrus’s assistants had spooned broth into his mouth, half of which he’d vomited back up. He blinked a few times, trying to clear that memory away. Not what he needed or wanted to be thinking of right now, not if he wanted to maintain any appetite at all.

Despite their attempts at neatness, the front of Relius’s nightshirt was splattered with soup and water before long. Teleus made no comment, just gently wiping at the spills with a napkin. Relius made it through nearly half the bowl and most of a cup of water before he turned his head away, refusing to eat more, and Teleus decided that he’d gotten enough food into him for the moment. He put the bowl down and wiped Relius’s face off again.

“Good job,” he said, unsure how to go about praising someone for eating their lunch. Not even eating, letting themself be fed. He brushed a stray curl back behind Relius’s ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked. He was prepared for the baleful stare that Relius met his question with. “That was a foolish question, I suppose. You don’t feel worse, though?” 

Relius shook his head, trying to take stock of his body. He was telling the truth, he decided. His head hurt, and he was too cold, but mostly he was just tired. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Teleus asked. 

Relius shook his head again. “Just…” He swallowed, somewhat painfully. “Stay with me. Please.” He took one of Teleus’s hands in both of his and frowned when Teleus tensed momentarily. He glanced up at the man's face, but Teleus was already as unreadable as if the moment of hesitation had never happened at all. Relius knew better. He'd seen the way Teleus looked at his broken hands with the same disgust and horror that Relius tried to keep hidden. He'd seen, the only time since his fall that they'd tried to be intimate, how Teleus's eyes had been drawn to the new scars scattered across his body until Relius had become fed up and thrown him out. That hadn't been one of his better moments. He yanked on Teleus's hand insistently until Teleus figured out what he wanted and sighed, scooping Relius up in his arms and then sitting down in the armchair with Relius, still wrapped in blankets, in his lap. Relius laid his head on Teleus's shoulder and closed his eyes. He felt simultaneously grounded, firm, and secure in Teleus’s arms, and like he was floating. It was an odd combination of sensations, but not an unpleasant one. “Go to sleep,” Teleus said gruffly. For once, Relius obeyed.

Teleus must’ve drifted off as well because he jerked awake to the sound of Relius, still asleep, sobbing. Teleus cursed under his breath and readjusted his grip on him. “Relius!” He got no response, apart from another cry. “Relius!” He shook him this time, which woke him, albeit with a scream. Teleus winced at the noise but kept hold of him. “Shhhh,” he urged. “Shh. You’re safe. Relius. Shhh.”

Relius, awake now, tucked his face against Teleus’s shoulder and began to cry in earnest, his tears a mixture of relief and pain and fever and fear. 

Teleus’s heart ached and twisted at the sound. He nearly felt sick himself. It was almost, almost, worse than the sounds Relius had made in that cell. Teleus heard those sounds in his own nightmares. He pushed his own feelings down for the moment and tried to lose himself in comforting Relius. Teleus rocked him and rubbed his back and stroked his hair, not saying a word as he did. The silence stretched once Relius finally went quiet, the only sound his wheezing breaths.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Teleus asked, already knowing as the words left his mouth that that was another stupid question. He sighed and tried to plan out what the next move ought to be. He wasn’t used to this. Before everything, Relius had been the one who made the plans, and Teleus had simply gone along with them. Now, though… Sometimes, on good days, there were flashes of the old, confident Relius. More often, though, he was submissive and obedient in a way that made Teleus’s skin crawl. Right now, though, he was neither, too exhausted and feverish to be anything at all, really. “How about,” Teleus began. He licked his dry lips and continued, “You drink some more water, and then you take a bath. It’ll help with the aches and,” Teleus made a noise that was almost a laugh, “you’ve got soup all over you.”

Relius shrugged one shoulder, but he sat up and let Teleus hold the cup to his lips so he could drink. Really, he could’ve done it himself, but he didn’t tell Teleus that. Soon enough, the water was gone, and Relius leaned back against Teleus’s chest. He didn’t particularly want a bath. Well, he did, but he was tired and ill and his hands hurt and washing himself seemed like far too much work. He closed his eyes and hoped that maybe Teleus had forgotten about it.

Teleus had not, in fact, forgotten. He stood up, setting Relius down in the chair as he did so, and then brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “I’m going to get someone to draw a bath,” he said, readjusting the blankets he’d wrapped Relius in. He glanced over at the bed. “And have those linens changed, too.”

Relius nodded listlessly. Teleus had already turned away, walking off to find a servant. Relius curled up under the blankets and pretended to be asleep throughout the entire process of the bath being readied. Teleus evidently saw through the deception, for when the servants had left, he carefully unwrapped the blankets and stripped Relius of his stained nightshirt before scooping him up in his arms and carrying him to the bath.

Teleus swallowed back bile, remembering the last time he’d cradled Relius like this. He’d been able to feel the bones under Relius’s skin then, felt him shudder and sob in his arms, felt the fever seeping through his skin. Fragile. Broken. Now, weeks later, Teleus didn’t know what he was. The doctors (and Teleus, at times) had forced Relius to eat, but he was still far too slender for Teleus’s liking. Teleus traced the line of his shoulder blade with his thumb before carefully, as though he might break him further, lowered him into the tub. Relius shivered violently at the sudden change in temperature. “Easy now,” Teleus soothed, “easy.” He slipped his arms out from under Relius and pulled a stool over so he could sit beside the tub.

Relius had his eyes closed, savoring the warmth surrounding him. When he was a boy, bathing had been a luxury. He’d washed himself in fountains, or he’d traded favors in exchange for entry into bathhouses, where he could get himself clean while he listened carefully to any gossip that might prove useful. It had taken him years after his appointment as Secretary of the Archives to fully realize that he could bathe whenever he wanted to, for however long he wanted, as privately as he wished. He’d long since grown used to it when that privilege was suddenly stripped away with his failure and subsequent arrest. Now that it had been restored, Relius often found that he was too tired and too weak to exercise it. It was nice in a way, he supposed, to just be put in the bath rather than having to actively choose it. If only he could gather the energy to actually bathe himself. He was trying to summon his strength up to do just that when Teleus dipped a washcloth into the water, soaped it, and began to wash Relius himself. Relius opened his eyes and turned to stare at him. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t want Teleus to stop.

“Do you not want me to?” Teleus asked, a touch of the nervousness he was feeling leaking into his voice. “I just thought it would be easier for you if—” He cut off abruptly when Relius lifted a hand and pressed a shaking finger against Teleus’s lips to silence him.

“It’s nice,” he said very quietly. That was as much of an invitation to continue as Teleus was likely to get, so once Relius took his finger away he got back to work, soaping and washing him. It was a nice, mindless sort of work, like swinging a sword or reaping a field. The kind of work that he didn’t do much anymore as a captain, sat behind his desk all day with his papers and politics.

He stole glances at Relius’s face often, telling himself that he was just checking to make sure he was still relaxed. When they’d still been growing accustomed to each other, he’d frightened Relius without meaning to once. He’d tried to act like the romantics in poems and plays, and he’d embraced Relius from behind without warning. The memory of the look Relius had given him still burned, years later. He’d only seen that face once since then, when he’d stormed into Relius’s former apartments to find him with a vial of poison in his hand and the ink still wet on the papers in front of him. When he smashed the vial, Relius had screamed and glared at him as though Teleus were the one who’d betrayed someone. In a way, he supposed, he was. If he’d turned away and let Relius drink the poison… 

Teleus blinked a few times to clear the memories from his head and the water from his eyes. He looked guiltily at Relius, but his friend had his eyes closed again and seemed to not have noticed anything.

Teleus cleared his throat to catch Relius’s attention. “Tilt your head back. I’ll wash your hair.” Relius did as instructed, and Teleus wet the rag he was holding again and squeezed it over Relius’s head to get his hair damp. He repeated that a few times before he lathered his hands with soap and massaged them through the wet hair. There were grey strands there that hadn’t been before his arrest. Neither of them had mentioned them yet, but Teleus had no doubt that they were distressing to Relius and his vanity. Teleus, for what it was worth, thought that they made him no less handsome. He rinsed the soap out of Relius’s hair and combed his fingers through it to break up some of the tangles. He wiped his hands off and sat back on his stool, letting Relius enjoy the warm water for a few more minutes.

“Let’s get you out,” he said at last. “C’mon. Time to get you back to bed.” He put his hands under Relius’s armpits and hoisted him upright, splashing water everywhere in the process. He helped him step out of the tub and then quickly wrapped him in a towel before his shivering got too bad. He wrapped his arms around him as well to warm him up even more and just held him like that, breathing in the scent of the soap. He dried Relius off and led him to the bed, sitting him down on the edge of it while he went to the chest of drawers against the wall to fetch a clean nightshirt. “Arms up,” he instructed as he returned to the bed, nightshirt in hand. When Relius obeyed, Teleus pulled the shirt over his head. He let Relius put his arms back down and then did up the ties at the sleeves and neck, feeling uncomfortably aware of the fact that Relius could no longer do them himself, even when he wasn’t ill.

“Alright,” he said, once that was done, “Lay down, now.” Relius did, and Teleus tucked the blankets over him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He sat silently and stroked Relius’s hair until he was asleep, and for some time after, too, lost in memories of himself and Relius before prison, before sickness and pain and this almost painful new intimacy. At long last, he stood, stretched, and then bent to kiss Relius’s cheek. Then, he turned to the door and left before he could regret it. He’d neglected his work for long enough. It was time to return to it, even if all he wanted to do was sit and watch the shadows on his lover’s sleeping face.


End file.
